“We are high up,” ponders Philip.
“I have won!” shouts Mr. Fayn. “Come, look. It’s all clear. Look!”
“But we believe you, Fayn.” My father languidly blows a ring toward the rafters.
“And even if we aren’t so high,” says Mildred, “perhaps we are high enough to catch the dawn at midnight.”
“We are very high,” says Philip.
“Well,” cries Mildred, “why does no one look? It’s midnight now. Instead of arguing, instead of theorizing, why does not someone look?”
She tosses her head up and down.
“Oh, you’re all too comfortable, here, to budge,” she taunts.
“And you, what about you?” says my mother savagely, while she lights a cigarette.
Mildred turns toward me. I arise from my chair.